


Blind

by PencilNeck



Series: Trope Bingo entries [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Aphrodesiacs, Bloodplay, Bondage, F/F, Food, Handcuffs, Interrogation, Knifeplay, Trope Bingo Amnesty, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7043920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilNeck/pseuds/PencilNeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Trope Bingo. I overreached and missed the deadline, but i'm posting what I did finish for the amnesty.</p><p>The Machine contacts Shaw for a very special mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind

 

“Miss Shaw.” Harold's voice came through on the earbud. “Mister Reese is with the number now at the safe house. You can head home if you like.”

“Sure thing, Harold.” Shaw clicks off communications with Finch and walks swiftly south, toward her apartment. Well, one of her apartments. After being kidnapped by Root from her own space, Shaw had taken better precautions. That's the problem with being one of the good guys. You forget how sneaky the bad guys can be, even for a minute, and you're compromised.

Her cell rings.

“I thought you said I was off the clock?” Shaw asks, without even a hello.

Static buzzed through the speaker for a moment.

“ _Can. You. Hear. Me_.” The Machine was calling.

“Uh, yeah.” Shaw replies, a bit disconcerted. The Machine had never called her directly before.

“ _Go. To. One. One. Three. Seven. Fifty. Sixth_.”

“Now?” Shaw asks for clarification. “Is it an emergency?”

“ _Go. Now_.” The Machine orders. “ _Fifth. Floor. Unit. Twelve_.”

The phone disconnects and Shaw drops her cell back in her pocket. She turns left at the next intersection, only a few blocks from the address the machine had told her to go. She increases her pace but she doesn't run. It would draw too much attention. If she's moving too slow, the machine will probably let her know.

She reaches the address, a chain hotel off the main strip. A place for students and backpackers who cram six people into a double room so they can see a show and buy an I Heart NY tee shirt. Shaw has never been to a Broadway show. She doesn't really understand how people would want to see that. People having feelings in front of an audience, let alone singing about them; the idea makes her skin crawl. Movies were good. Things explode. People yell, drive cars and shoot each other. What else does anybody need?  
  
Shaw contemplates her Netflix queue while she takes the stairs to the fifth floor. No cameras at the front entrance, or in the stairwell. Likely the only cameras are in the elevators and behind the front counter. Most bosses trust their staff less than they trust the customers.  
  
She reaches the fifth floor, and rests her hand on the grip of her pistol. She pushes the door open slowly, peeking out. An ambush could come from anywhere at any time.

The hallway is clear. She moves silently down the carpeted corridor. Room five-twelve is right at the end of the hall, the door facing her approach. Good. Less likely to get clipped that way.

The door is slightly ajar when she moves to check the handle. That's never a good sign. There could be an intruder, or someone needing help.

She pushes through, taking her gun off her hip and holding it ahead of her, sweeping the rooms as she goes. It's a pretty nice room, as hotel chain suites go. Big king sized bed. Jetted tub. Walk in... Shit. Walk in closet.

She spins quickly to sweep the closet she'd missed the first time around. But she's too late. She feels the pain of ten thousand volts run through her as she drops the gun and falls to the floor.

The last thing she hears is a sweet, feminine voice saying “We've just got to stop meeting like this.”

 

* * *

 

Shaw wakes up to find herself sitting on a hard-backed chair, her arms and legs fastened to the chair with handcuffs.

“Cuffs?” Shaw grunts. “I thought you were into zip ties.”

“Aw, sweetie.” Root replies, circling Shaw like a hungry cat. “I may see the expedience in using zip ties, but aesthetically? You gotta go with the classics.”

“I also thought we agreed that you'd stop tasing me.” Shaw tests her restraints. They're looser than she'd allow in Root's place, but they're holding.

“I never promised.” Root smiles wide, just looking at Shaw with a burst of affection. She caresses Shaw's hair. “I said I'd try. But I like my taser, and I'd rather not get shot.” Root points to the loaded gun on the dresser.

“I make no promises.” Shaw pulls hard against her left wrist cuff, testing the strength of the wooden furniture. It creaks, but doesn't split like she'd hoped.

“So the way I see it, we have two options.” Root paces in front of Shaw's chair. “You can just tell me why you're following me, I torture you just a bit for old times sake, and then we part ways until next time...”  
  
“What's behind door number two?” Shaw feels around the cuffs, getting a tactile sense of their strengths and weaknesses. Smith and Wesson, with Medeco lock cylinders. Shit.

“I torture you a lot. You tell me why you're following me.” Root looks down at Shaw, her face apologetic. “And maybe I leave you somewhere I know Harry or his faithful puppy will find you.”

“Why not just uncuff me, and we see who comes out on top. Once and for all.” Shaw grins up at Root, not kindly.

“Oh Sameen.” Root leans in slightly, still out of reach. “As much as I'd love to get an answer to that question, we both know we're not ready for that.” She reaches out to touch Shaw's cheek, pulling back before Shaw can bite her hand.

“So.” Root sits on the bed, crossing her legs slowly. “Why are you here, Sameen?”

“Why are you?” Shaw leers, mostly for show. “Maybe you're following me?”

“I thought we'd built up a little trust after our partnership on the last mission.” Root pouts. “We worked well together, didn't we?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Shaw rolls her eyes. “After you zapped me and tied me to a steering wheel.”

“Is that what you think?” Root grins. “The way I remember it, we came to an understanding.”

“You would.” Shaw returns her attention to the handcuffs. They're extremely well made, and once she's out of them Shaw might just keep them for herself.

“I see you're going to be stubborn about this.” Root sighs, and walks over to her purse. She pulls out a long, sharp blade. She returns to Shaw, and crouches at her feet. “Remember, this is all on you. I gave you a chance to avoid this.”

“Why would I want to avoid it?” Shaw sits up straight. “Remember, I kinda get off on this stuff.”

Root bites her lip, only blushing slightly. “I remember.”

“So get to it.” Shaw breathes in and out slowly, preparing her body for whatever Root decides to do with that knife. “I don't have all night.”

“But I do.” Root drags the knife across Shaw's cheek and down the front of her neck, not breaking skin, just watching as Shaw swallows against the tip of the blade. When the edge reaches Shaw's collarbone, Root presses down, just enough to draw blood. “I have...” Root tilts her head, “All the time” Making shallow cut across Shaw's skin, watching the blood trickle into Shaw's cleavage. “In the world.”

Root looks into Shaw's eyes, trying to gauge how far she'll have to go. Shaw gives away nothing, holding her body rigid and breathing in a controlled, slow rhythm.

The knife slices through Shaw's black tee-shirt, revealing Shaw's toned stomach. Three lines of red begin to well up and soak into the ripped fabric. Root carries on, making light cuts across Shaw's ribs and upper thighs. Shaw's clothes are ribbons in the places where Root has centred her attention, damp with blood and stinging the skin underneath.

Shaw's body betrays her, in a sheen of sweat and a light hitch in her breath.

Root doesn't ask any questions during the interrogation. She just makes her cuts, and occasionally looks up into Shaw's eyes and stays her hand for a quick heartbeat.

“Believe it or not...” Root whispers, watching as Shaw's left sleeve falls away from her arm in ribbons. “I don't want to hurt you. Well, I do... I get off on this stuff too. But I don't want to. It's complicated.”

“Not really.” Shaw inhales when the knife draws close to her inner thigh. “Just remember, for every slice on me I'm gonna pay you back twice over.”

“I'll hold you to that.” Root smiles, feeling naughty. “But that's enough for now, I think.” She steps away to the bathroom, running the knife under the sink until the red turns pink turns clear. She wraps it up in a hotel towel and drops it back in her purse.

“Is that all you got?” Shaw winces, as the fabric begins to dry into her wounds and she pulls against them with every movement of her body.  
  
“Not by a long shot.” Root sits back down across from Shaw. “Perhaps I just want to try something different with you.”

“Like what?” Shaw closes her eyes, controls her breathing.

“Like...” Root shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Talking?”

“Oh no.” Shaw sits up, and grunts as she irritates all her little cuts. “Let's go back to the knife.”

“Don't be like that.” Root laughs, although she knows that Shaw's not joking. “Alright, I'll go first.”

Shaw rolls her eyes and tugs against her restraints.

“I'm here because She told me to come.” Root started. “She told me that I'd find some answers here. Instead I found you.” Root looks at Shaw expectantly. “Now you go.”

“Ugh, fine.” Shaw rolls her eyes. “The damn Machine told me to come here. So I did.”

“Did she send Harry a number?” Root wrinkles her nose in confusion.

“No.” Shaw speaks slowly. “The Machine. Called. Me.”

“That's impossible.” Root shakes her head in denial.

“Check my cell.” Shaw nods her head toward her jacket, which is draped artfully across the bed.

Root rummages through Shaw's pockets until she finds her cell phone. She scrolls through and finds a call from an unknown number.

“That doesn't prove anything.” Root drops the phone on the bed.

“Then why don't you ask her.” Shaw demands, exasperated and increasingly uncomfortable. “Since you two are such good buddies.”

“I will.” Root shuffles toward the bathroom for some privacy, although Shaw can hear every word. “Did you...” Root starts to ask the air. She's obviously interrupted, because she stops talking and tilts her ear toward the sky. “But...” She sighs. “I-” She shakes her head, exasperated. “I understand.”

She turns to Shaw, a dazed expression on her face. “It seems She has taken it upon herself to...”

Shaw begins to interrupt, but the lights blink once before the room is plunged into darkness.

“Whatever's happening here is happening now.” Shaw pleads with Root. “Uncuff me. I promise I won't shoot you until it's over.”

“Relax.” Root listens to the voice in her head for a moment and then steps to the bedside table. She pulls out a small bag and from it she arranges a handful of candles on the table. She lights them with the provided matches. “She's got it covered.”

“What the hell is going on?” Shaw thrashes in her chair, more out of petulance and frustration than any attempt at escape.

“Hold that thought.” Root saunters to the hotel room door, opening it before anyone knocks. Shaw hears some muffled laughter and some rustling plastic. Root returns, smiling, newly burdened with a large hamper and two plastic bags. “Dinner is served.”

Shaw watches, open mouthed, as Root opens the take out containers and sets them out between them. Cutlery. China plates. Wine in bottles with stemmed glassware. Steak. Goddamned rare porterhouse steak and stuffed baked potatoes. Shaw swears she hears a click in her head as she puts it all together.

“Is this...” She can't believe she's about to say this. “Is this a date?”

“I think the Machine wants it to be.” Root shrugs, feigning indifference. “Where She got that idea, I don't...” She rubs the back of her neck and fiddles with the place settings.

“Oh my god.” Shaw sets back heavily in her chair. It's sturdy. It can take it.

“I would let you go, but She says there's a sixty-seven percent chance you'll shoot me if I do.” Root laughs, tense and high pitched. Her fingers fiddle with the cloth napkins. “So...” Her demeanor flips like a switch. “You hungry?”

“You actually want to go through with this?” Shaw looks confused, and a bit scared. “The Machine plays Cupid and you're just... right on board?”

“I'm not about to let all this go to waste.” Root takes up her cutlery and daintily slices through the thick steak. She takes a bite and her whole body responds with a groan. “Oh that's good.”

“Shut up.” Shaw grumbles.

“You have to try this.” Root puts a forkful of steak in front of Shaw's face.

“You're not feeding me.” Shaw turns her head like a petulant baby.

“I'm not un-cuffing you.” Root retorts, waving the fork around like an airplane. “So, be a good girl.”

Shaw's glare could turn the steak from rare to well done. But she opens her mouth. Root maneuvers the fork into Shaw's mouth with a delicate hand. Shaw pulls the steak into her mouth with her teeth. She doesn't make a sound, but the slump of her shoulders indicates her thorough enjoyment. It's the best damn steak Shaw's ever had. She weighs her options. She looks at Root, who is asking a question with her wide eyes.  
  
Reluctantly, Shaw nods. Root grins as though she's won a great prize, and begins to feed Shaw and herself their dinner.

They eat mostly in silence. Root watches very carefully as Shaw chews each bite, offering her a sip of wine every third bite or so. She listens for the grunt that means to switch the next forkful to a bite of that amazing stuffed baked potato. In between her task, she takes delicate bites from her own plate.  
  
“Well, this was nice.” Root leans back on the bed after the plates are scraped clean. “I'm glad we got a chance to do this.”

“Whatever.” Shaw shrugs. The sharp stings on her skin have faded to a dull throbbing. Endorphins kicking in. Serotonin flooding the brain. “Good food.”

Root fingers her glass of wine, looking at Shaw contemplatively.

“I'm sorry about earlier.” Root has the decency to look a bit ashamed. “I may have over reacted.”

“You think?” Shaw nods to her wine. Root holds it up to her lips and Shaw gulps it back until the glass is empty. Root refills it promptly. Shaw shakes her head. “Okay. Date's over. Tell your Wing-Machine that this? Not happening.”

“I don't know.” Root takes a large gulp of her wine and rests her glass on the side table. She shakes out her hair, and undoes a button on her blouse. “It could be happening...”

“No. It can't.” Shaw spits from gritted teeth. “I don't mix business and pleasure.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Root straddles Shaw's lap and sits lightly down. Shaw inhales as the cuts on her thighs are weighted down. “Then you're missing the best part.”

Shaw tenses as Root proceeds to run her hands delicately across Shaw's body. Everywhere she had previously torn skin, she now raises goosebumps.

“Answer one question.” Root whispers into Shaw's ear. “One question and I'll let you decide what happens next.”

“Even if I decide I want to shoot you?” Shaw seethes. “Many, many times?”

“Even then.” Root's voice is sultry and soothing. She wraps her arms around Shaw's neck and leans back to catch her eyes. She grins, a light smirk.

“Ask.” Shaw growls.

“Is the machine ever wrong?” Root leans in to slowly whisper the question into Shaw's ear. She takes a chance and quickly sticks out her tongue to lick the lobe before pulling away.

Shaw, outmaneuvered, looks away and then back to Root.  
  
“No.” Shaw sighs.

“Thank you.” Root smiles, soft and delicately. “What happens now?” She asks, running her nose lightly against Shaw's cheek. “Your call.”

“Damn it.” Shaw mutters under her breath and leans forward, locking her lips to Root's. Root takes Shaw's initiative as encouragement, and pushes her lips against Shaw's with an unleashed desire that Shaw can actually feel. Root's tongue invades her mouth, and Shaw's mouth waters from the kiss that tastes like steak and wine. Hands that once cut and fluttered are now firm and smooth against her skin, seeking out access wherever it can be found. Hips grind against her thighs, re-opening her lacerations and sending pain up Shaw's spine along with pleasure.

Root kisses a line down Shaw's neck, sucking hard against her collarbone. Nibbling with her teeth against the red lines she'd put there earlier. Hands explore the peak of her breasts, pinching hard and twisting in exactly the right way. Shaw's hips push up involuntarily.

“Easy, tiger.” Root husks, pulling her lips away from Shaw's neck to breathe and tease at once. “We've got all night.”  
  
“I don't do slow.” Shaw leans forward, trying to catch Root with her teeth. Root smiles, fondling under Shaw's shirt with exquisitely cold hands.

“Slow can be good.” Root undoes one more button on her blouse. “Slow can be... amazing.” She leans her head to the side, offering Shaw her neck. Shaw takes it, licking and sucking harshly at the unblemished skin. The groan from Root's throat gives her the motivation to get her damn hands free so she can start steering this 'date' in the right direction.

Root's hips begin a subtle rocking rhythm. Shaw bites down on Root's blouse and pulls, managing to open two more buttons. Without stopping to admire the view, Shaw attacks this new landscape with her teeth and tongue. Root gathers Shaw in her arms and pulls their bodies closer together, her blouse now hanging limply across her back, exposing her chest and shoulders to Shaw's unceasing onslaught.

“Oh.” Root murmurs as Shaw nips her nipple through her bra. “That feels so-” whatever she was going to say becomes a yelp as Shaw tugs with her teeth.

“I want your hands on me so badly.” Root whispers, not meaning for the words to come out.  
  
“Ask,” Shaw smirks, and her hands come free from their restraints. She drops the fork she'd twisted into a key, and her red-wristed hands clamp down on Root's hips. “And you shall receive.”

“How did you..” Root groans as she's pulled hard against Shaw's lap with one strong arm wrapped around her waist. The other pushes the offending blouse away from Root's skin onto the floor.

“Trade secret.” With the other arm, Shaw reaches around and pulls the back of Root's hair, exposing more of that lovely neck. “You should be naked.”

“I agree.” Root lifts up to unbutton her jeans. With Shaw's assistance, Root is bare within moments, her clothes ripped and discarded across the suite's floor and furniture. “Bed?”

“I'm good here.” Shaw pulls Root back onto her lap, mouth immediately finding a nipple to suckle on, hands traveling all across this newly exposed skin. Root braces herself, gripping the back of the chair hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “Sameen...”

Shaw doesn't react to Root's exhalation of her name. The moment she slips her hand between Root's legs and feels how much she is desired, Shaw is focused, to the exclusion of everything else, on her target.

Root, grinding naked against her sometime enemy while said enemy finger fucks her, is as oblivious to her surroundings. Samaritan could walk in and throw a party and she'd beg Sameen not to stop. In fact...  
  
“Please...” Root pulls their bodies closer.  
  
Shaw grunts, and lifts Root bodily up, so her knees are resting on the arms of the chair and she is being held up by her own arm strength and by Shaw's hands around and now even deeper inside her. Root leans over her, eyes closed and mouth open. Shaw watches that for a fraction of time, momentarily freed from their shared lusty haze by something pulling from within her chest. Something soft and kind and so rare that she's forgotten it almost completely until now.

Root starts to shake, from holding herself up by her arms and from Shaw's insistent attention, and a long note of bliss escapes Root's mouth as she comes, hard and intense. Shaw watches, still pushing and pulling against Root's body until it collapses on top of her in a crumpled heap. She grunts with the weight against her skin.  
  
“Oh boy.” Root mumbles against Shaw's shoulder. “That was...”

“No.” Shaw pushes Root off her, not unkindly but without tenderness. “No talking.”

“I can get on board with that.” Root stands naked, eyeing a fully clothed Shaw as though she were the one on display.  
  
“Good.” Shaw stands, the cuffs around her ankles finally undone. She stands and stretches, watching Root watch her. She slowly cracks her neck to the left and then the right. She purses her lips, looking Root up and down.

“Go get that knife.” She orders, thumbs in her own waistband.

“Yes ma'am!” Root giggles and skips to her purse.

 

* * *

 

As the sun comes up, Shaw takes the elevator down to the lobby of the chain hotel and leaves through the front door. She walks in the early light, hands in her pockets.

She and Root spent the night marking each other, and the early morning patching each other up. Root had been surprisingly delicate, and knowledgeable about basic triage. Root needing stitches wasn't part of the plan, but they'd gotten a bit carried away and it wasn't like Root had complained.

Last night was a blur of red meat, red wine and red blood. Sex and food and pain and violence... All in all, Shaw would probably say this was the best date she's ever been on.  
  
She feels in her pockets and her fingers touch on hard steel. She had claimed a pair of handcuffs. Not as a memento, as Root had teased, but because they're pretty useful in her line of work. And maybe the soreness in her wrists, and the cold metal on her fingertips makes her feel that tugging in her chest again, and maybe it reaches up to her mouth and pulls the corners up just a bit. But mostly it's practical, taking the cuffs.

She idly notices a security camera at an intersection and stops, inspecting it.

“Hey. So uh...” Shaw feels stupid, talking to the Machine like this. “Why do you care about this? Why- What do I and Root being... whatever, have to do with the Mission?”  
  
She gets a buzz in her pocket in reply. She checks her screen. There's a text, from an unknown number. It's only one word.

' _Everything_.'

 

END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
